Obstinacy
by Daisaku
Summary: More and more androids are created in humanoid form, bought and used to fulfill the dreams and wants of humans in Paradigm City. Voices from the dark question R. Dorothy Wayneright’s emotions, challenging her to confess to a buried truth within...
1. Persistance of Barrier

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy IX song, "Melodies of Life," or Big O, for that matter.  
  
-  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"And now, the newest model brought to you by Cherubic™, the CTS-12! Incredibly realistic, and comes with full online access, personalized e-mail services, and videophone. On sale today!"  
  
A horribly bubbly voice ranted about the newest brand android: an exceedingly lifelike android with strange, catlike ears that stuck out at the sides of the head, with braided red hair and verdant eyes glimmering with a strange kind of emptiness. Roger snorted, unimpressed, into his coffee cup, and flipped nonchalantly through a gray, stale-smelling newspaper, as Dorothy poetically sipped her tea at the opposite end of the table.  
  
One steely, purple-tinged eye scanned the television as an announcer scanned through about 4 models of rather perfect-looking yet fake girls, staring emptily ahead and ready to be purchased. Purchased.  
  
The Negotiator glanced upwards to see a rather disgruntled Dorothy staring avidly at the television screen, frowning slightly as the silhouettes passed horizontally through the screen. He made a small "hmm" sound with his throat, and glanced back at his paper upon feeling Dorothy's icy gaze upon him.  
  
"Did you mean to say something to me, Roger?" she inquired uncertainly, raising a brow.  
  
A while ago, Roger Smith would've accused Dorothy for mimicking a human with even the smallest gesture; indeed, he smirked, slightly amused by this but not commenting.  
  
"What's the matter?" Roger queried, glancing over his paper and taking an elongated sip of his coffee to wait for a response. Dorothy was silent for the moment, staring at space between her teacup and the television, where a rather monotonous looking man was ranting about how happy he was with his android.  
  
"Those androids," she said stiffly, "suppose that I had not met you, and these 'toys' came into existence. Suppose I came along later, after you have purchased and owned an android for some time." Dorothy stared at the TV. "So…if you had to choose between the android and myself, who would you choose?"  
  
Roger took a large gulp of his coffee, and then set the mug down along with his paper.  
  
"Note," Dorothy began to add as a woman on the television introduced another model, "that those androids are merely servants: ignorant and built to follow orders without question, no matter how twisted the request. It makes no difference to them."  
  
"And how would you describe yourself, Miss Wayneright?" Roger quipped innocently, resting his forearms on the table and taking care not to tip over his mug with his elbow. The android sitting across glanced at him—her version of a shrug without actually making the gesture with her thin shoulders. He sighed. He wasn't going to get an answer. "Err…well, Dorothy, to be honest, I wasn't too fond of you at first… But I can honestly say you grew on me."  
  
It wasn't a direct answer; Dorothy's head craned around flowingly to gaze at him, almost as if looking inside him for a real reaction—however, she might've found something that satisfied her, and she nodded and took a sip of her tea.  
  
"Now let me ask you a question." Roger's eyes flickered idly to the TV set. "How do you feel about the robots?" He propped his elbow on the table, resting his head in his hand.  
  
It was Dorothy's turn to be hushed for a moment, as she stared into her teacup.  
  
"I imagine they did not put artificial intelligence in the androids, so they would not rebel versus their 'masters'." Dorothy responded quietly, and her eyes slowly, gracefully moved up to meet Roger's, gazing emptily into the frosty depths of his eyes. "They have no free will. I feel no need to question the matter."  
  
Silence.  
  
Roger watched interestedly as her eyes inadvertently moved towards the television to frown slightly at the robots on display on the screen. When Dorothy had arrived, requesting to be protected by the Negotiator, she had been rather defiant: questioning and insulting his fashion sense, daring to wake him up before the sun rises with her halfhearted piano playing… But was all that simply because of a program?  
  
Norman walked towards the dining area, dabbing his hands with a slightly warm, damp cloth; he glanced at the TV and rolled his eyes derisively, and Dorothy and Norman shared a glance—as if they understood what the other was thinking. Roger was out of the loop on that one.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Dorothy. I don't consider you one of those boring, droning bots, if my opinion counts for anything."   
  
Roger smirked and made a move to prop his legs on the table, only to find that Dorothy had appeared at his side to give him a reproachful look and a disapproving yet heavy tap on the knee; Norman let out a low chuckle, and Roger's smirk grew (though one brow tilted downward, slightly annoyed).  
  
"Never a dull moment." Roger placed his legs on the floor and slid out of his chair, straightening his tie for no apparent reason. A ghost of amusement flickered on Dorothy's face, and she gave Roger a meaningful glance that went unnoticed before walking in her usual manner towards the large stone pavilion.  
  
Outside, however, the red-haired android began to sing quietly to herself, staring fathomlessly at the semi-bustling yet disturbingly gray city below the large building that was Roger Smith's residence.  
  
"Alone for a while, I've been searching through the dark…  
For traces of the love you left inside my lovely heart;  
To weave, by picking up the pieces that remain,  
Melodies of life, love's lost refrain…"   
  
"You've got a very nice voice." Roger commented graciously from behind Dorothy.  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Roger Smith." Dorothy responded flatly, but her tone was about as whimsical as her monotonous voice could get; she turned around, the wind blowing her black velvety skirt in a small kind of elegant twirl, twisting across and back as she stopped to face the Negotiator.  
  
"It earns me a brownie point, and that's not too pitiable." Roger shrugged, maneuvering past her and staring over the balcony edge to gaze down at the loitering people of gray, sleepy Paradigm City.  
  
"Are you stipulating that you find some elation over making me happy, Roger?" Roger glanced at her through the corner of his glassy eyes, barely managing to capture a tiny smile forming on her pale lips—perhaps it was only a smirk, but even something as inconsequential as a smile on R. Dorothy Wayneright…well, it wasn't easy to forget. He opened his mouth to comment, but was cut off. "That's very kind of you, Roger."  
  
The Negotiator felt sweat form on the back of his neck, even if it was moderately cold in Paradigm that evening, and his mouth moved without his mind's consent. "Well, I—err—you—and—"  
  
"It's a nice day today." Dorothy turned back to the lazy city, and the slate-blue skies above—quite possibly on purpose, having saved Roger from personal humiliation. "The sky isn't as blue as I'd like it to be, though." The wind gently caressed Dorothy's sharp features, causing her hair to flow on the wafting breeze. Roger sighed inwardly.  
  
There was another silence, somewhat awkward for the Negotiator yet not too abnormal for Dorothy. She began to hum the song she was singing, rocking back and forth on her black heels; her eyes were closed, and her expression was tranquil and placid. If the dynamic duo weren't on a mission, Dorothy spent almost the entire day outside aside from cleaning.  
  
"I wasn't just trying to flatter you when I said your voice was nice, Dorothy." Roger noted, sticking his hands back in his deep pockets and staring at the back of her head with a minute smile.  
  
Dorothy hesitated for a moment before slowly spiraling around to meet his gaze, her red hair cloaking her pale face due to the direction she was facing, and the direction of the wind. This abrupt movement nearly startled Roger, who was contemplating turning around to head back inside to collect his thoughts, but she stared at him for a long time. She looked as if she was attempting to read his face, or perhaps gain access to the Roger behind the wall he had erected between himself and the world…  
  
The corner of his mouth tugged slightly, and he stared almost boldly back. Maybe she already had.  
  
"Would you compliment me like that if I was one of those androids they sell for servants?" Dorothy's hands were placed behind her back, and she would look almost like an innocent schoolgirl—if not for the unbendable expression plastered onto her face.  
  
Roger flinched slightly, his night-colored eyes widening slightly at the solemn appearance of her face, and he stayed quiet for a bit, his hands shifting uncomfortably in his pockets. She stared at him, eyes cold and calculating, as they had once been when they first met. This was certainly not a question he would've expected from a normal girl.  
  
But Dorothy isn't a normal girl, something scolded him, so don't treat her like one.  
  
"…I apologize, Roger. Some things have been on my mind lately. Please excuse my behavior." Dorothy gave a quick, tiny bow and stalked past Roger, her heels making rhythmic taps against the hard floors. He spun around as she exited the balcony, and stared at her retreating form.  
  
Roger let out a heavy, discontented sigh, throwing one last glance at the city and then withdrawing back into the confines of his home; he walked towards the sofa, and plopped himself down. It seemed around the afternoon, yet the "conversation" with Dorothy had actually made it seem longer then it actually was… He yawned, slinging one arm around the sofa. Dorothy was…strange. Each and every woman in Paradigm, bubbly, sophisticated, brash—none of these had ever caught his interest too much.  
  
How coincidental it should be that Roger Smith would be curious about an android.  
  
An android, that unlike any girl, mocked him at many turns, hated his fashion sense, managed to be enough of an enigma to puzzle him, and yet always remained by his side, no matter what crap happened.  
  
Dorothy was bizarre.  
  
"Hey, Norman." He casually greeted the butler of the home, raising a hand in a sort of salutation. Roger propped his other arm over the sofa wall, his eyes half-closed from contemplation and fatigue, and crossed his legs as rain began to fall outside. Norman glanced back at him, holding a silver tray.  
  
"Hello, master Roger. I saw Miss Dorothy walking rather quickly in the direction of her room. Do you know if anything's wrong with her?"  
  
"Hell if I know." Roger dismissed it with a short wave, his head tilted slightly towards the ground and his eyes half-closed. Norman let out an audible sigh, then shrugged and returned to doing whatever he usually did in the afternoon. "She's been weird ever since they started releasing those weird androids. Maybe she's jealous."  
  
"I don't see any reason for Miss Dorothy to be jealous, master Roger. I do believe that she's very intelligent and extraordinary, and she's also quite the fine young lady." Norman said briskly, dusting off a cabinet with a feather duster. "Don't you agree?"  
  
"I--…wait, what?" Roger's eyes shot open, one brow raised almost to his slick hairline and one eye about as wide as a saucepan. "Don't do the mind games trick on me, Norman. Just don't. I'm mentally incapacitated for the day, okay?" Exasperated now, he made peculiar hand gestures to prove his point; however, his desperateness to get Norman to drop the subject merely made the butler laugh appraisingly and return to…whatever. "She's probably fine. I know she's better then all those damn for-sale ones out there, anyway, so what does it matter?"  
  
Norman chuckled heartily upon hearing this, and Roger flinched slightly. The Negotiator frowned and threw the butler a dirty look.  
  
"You know, if Miss Dorothy overheard that, she would be overjoyed." Norman mentioned, tilting his head to the side to glimpse Roger again, just to see his reaction. Roger was gaping at him, looking rather irritable with a twitching eyebrow and jaw. "I think she appreciates your commentary, you know. One of the few who does, I might add."  
  
"Norman, shut up." Roger bent over in his seat so his forehead would make impact with the table with a resonating thump. "When's dinner?"   
  
"Fifteen minutes, master Roger." 


	2. Persistance of Apprehension

A/N: Yes, I do know where the title of this story comes from. Thanks for the reviews. ^_^  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Big O and all the stuff in it.  
  
-  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Master Roger, dinner is ready." Norman called from the dining area, carrying that ever-obedient yet somehow confident air. Roger looked up, and nodded slightly; he pushed himself up, exhausted without having done much of anything that day, and walked to the table.  
  
Dorothy appeared from the dark corridor that led to her own room—that room having never been entered by Roger, but maybe Norman. Maybe. That was a key word. As far as Roger knew, Dorothy's room was pretty much an enigma.   
  
She nodded, and walked to the table, sophisticatedly pulling out a chair, smoothing her dress, and sitting down.  
  
"Good evening, miss Dorothy. Are you feeling well?" the old man inquired, giving a short, appreciative bow in her presence.  
  
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" she responded calmly. Typical Dorothy. She would never admit her worries or fears to anyone, if she had any. Especially Roger. Roger frowned slightly at that thought, but shrugged it off as Norman placed plates upon the table with food carefully applied on fragile porcelain. Dorothy folded her napkin onto her lap and began to eat in the same way she always did—smoothly, no hesitation.  
  
There was silence at the table for most of dinner.  
  
Every now and then, Roger would steal a glance at his robot associate, and quickly return to his plate before she would notice anything. Her dark eyes revealed nothing. So he was quiet, and unconfused.   
  
The phone rang.  
  
Norman made a start for it, but Roger extended his hand in a soundless order to halt; he dabbed at his face like a gentleman with his napkin, and then slid out of his chair and walked to the phone on his desk.  
  
"Hello, this is Roger Smith."  
  
"H-hello? This…my name is Julia…um, Julia Hibiya. And…well, I'll get to the point. My android—is missing… It was stolen from me. Could you…help me?" A timid voice emitted from the opposing line, and Roger's brow tilted upward slightly upon seeing Dorothy glance upward, still unresponsive. "And, um…other peoples' androids have been missing too…"  
  
"…Right." Roger finally answered after about twenty literal seconds of silence, slightly entranced by the apathetic face Dorothy put on. "…Where do you live?" There was a nod, and Roger scribbled down a street address on a tiny pad next to the phone.   
  
He said a small goodbye, and placed the receiver back onto the stand, maneuvering to the table.  
  
"I don't see why people are so concerned." Dorothy finally spoke frostily, never removing her vacant gaze from her plate and carefully placing a piece of chicken into her mouth. "Machines can be replaced."  
  
"I…" Roger paused for a moment, almost letting out a 'guess so,' but then remembering that Dorothy herself was…a machine. Dorothy's black stare maneuvered to Roger for a moment, readily awaiting an unfavorable response; he stared back, uncertain, slowly placing his hand with the fork onto the table. Finally, he gave a small smirk. "I don't think you're too replaceable, Dorothy."  
  
Dorothy paused slightly, having slightly lowered the teacup; her arm remained suspended in the air for a few precious, surprised moments. She blinked, as if snapped out of a long daze, then nodded and placed the cup down.  
  
Roger felt a small swell of pride. Yes, Roger Smith can woo even androids.   
  
Well, he wouldn't use the word "woo". Flatter, maybe. Dorothy wasn't a "woo" type.  
  
"That's different." Dorothy said calmly, causing Roger to sigh inwardly. What need had she felt to press the subject—was she really so bitter towards the androids and their owners? "All they need to do is go and buy a new one. I am not one of those models."  
  
"I guess they're pretty expensive. One might be enough." Roger shrugged, stabbing a tomato violently with his fork. A small crunch emitted from the impact, and he twirled his fork around.  
  
"But why do they care about something that was never alive?"   
  
Roger flinched slightly, gazing down at his near-empty plate as if it held some significance to him. He knew she was awaiting some kind of response, unafraid of eye contact if the answer meant Roger didn't—well, you know; he moved around the food on his plate absentmindedly, attempting to go as long as he could without answering. What could he say, anyway?  
  
"Humans are so material." Dorothy said in what could be heard as a bitter tone, yet remaining calm in the actions of eating and drinking. Roger blinked a few times, and then frowned slightly. "Does a nut or a screw have affection? Do they not know that the robots' warmth is only constructed, and never real?"  
  
"What're you talking about?" Roger raised an eyebrow, his hand shaking slightly around the rim of his mug. She seemed so nonchalant about this. And Roger felt as if he'd walked into a brick wall all of a sudden.  
  
"Why do people care about things that aren't alive?" she persisted, her tone no longer calm—it had an edge, a very slight one. Her gaze was removed from her food platter and she stared at Roger Smith, awaiting a response.  
  
Well, let's be honest here. What could he say?  
  
"…" Roger removed his hands from the table, staring at the wall to his left and trying to conjure up a response. "Because…they…" Silence. "…Because they care and…have hearts." Roger said simply, and then resuming his eats.  
  
Dorothy paused for a moment.  
  
She nodded slowly, as if understanding yet another concept of human nature, and finished off the last of the plate before standing. The red-haired girl nodded shortly at Norman, before carrying her dish to the kitchen to wash it.  
  
Roger stood up, meal unfinished. He didn't feel like eating anymore. He sighed and walked into the hallway, ready to change into the evening robe and possibly turn in early.  
  
He paused in the corridor. Dorothy's room's door was open—wide open.  
  
Roger sighed, rolling his eyes. Dorothy never opened her door for anyone, and no one had ever seen it. There was probably a good reason for that, so Roger turned to his room. But something barely escaped the corner of his eye. You know the feeling when you go past some place you're not supposed to, but you see something interesting and turn around? That was Roger right then.  
  
It was too bad that when he chose to turn around and make a start for her room, he almost crash-landed into Dorothy. Why does the bad crap always happen to the Negotiator? And why did she have to be so damn fast?  
  
"What are you doing?" Dorothy inquired flatly, eyebrow twitching slightly upon seeing him.  
  
"Uh…nothing," Roger stammered, backing away from the doorframe. "Err…I wasn't going to do anything. Really." He stumbled backwards, glancing idly over his shoulder to make sure he was headed to his own room.  
  
"You'd better hope that was true, Roger Smith." Dorothy's tone could've been distinguished as seething, or just bitterness at work; whatever it was, it was unnerving, and she spun around to walk into her room, closing the door gently behind her.  
  
Roger sighed shortly with relief. God knows what Dorothy would've done if he'd actually had the chance to enter the room.  
  
He walked into his own bedroom, stifling a yawn and changing smoothly into his traditional robe and slippers and such. It was dark out, and when it's dark in Paradigm you can barely see out your window. That's how dreary it is. He glared outside for the moment. Maybe the sun would be up tomorrow. Dorothy would like that.  
  
Roger walked into the corridor again, only to find her door open and inviting once again. He glanced out into the main, open area.  
  
"Norman, where's Dorothy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"The balcony. I thought you would know?" Norman also raised an eyebrow; Roger gave him an indignant look and walked to the stone pavilion, ignoring his butler's slight chuckle. Surely enough, Dorothy was standing on the marquee as usual, gazing over at the blacks and grays of Paradigm uninterestedly. She probably wanted a city with color.  
  
Roger watched Dorothy from behind, and she was deathly still for a while—gazing perhaps straight ahead, or maybe glancing around without moving her head.  
  
"Hello, Roger." She didn't turn around to acknowledge his presence, and her tone was somewhat lifeless and unexciting with her greeting; she gazed halfheartedly at the building across, where some lights flickered in the window.  
  
"Hey." Roger responded offhandedly. "What're you staring at?"  
  
"Look at that." Dorothy points bitterly to the building across—probably a hotel or apartment, with stacks upon stacks of windows, several lit.  
  
Silhouettes of people dotted a few scattered windows, and a figure with fake, catlike ears next to it—androids. People, with those humanoid computers, enjoying themselves and believing they weren't alone. …Or maybe Dorothy just wanted to believe they were alone. What was her deal with them?  
  
"Isn't it strange?" she asked softly, brow furrowing in thought. "If a person fell in love with one of them, would they think—would they believe the love was real?"   
  
Roger was silent for a moment, ready to welcome any words or thoughts she could spare. He glanced at the dancing shadows of people and their "coms," doing whatever they pleased. She seemed disgruntled. This was pretty awkward for Roger… Upon realizing she had nothing further to offer then await a response, he made a small "ahem" in his throat.  
  
"What do you think about love, Roger?"  
  
Ah, crap.  
  
"Well…uh…" R. Dorothy Wayneright was possibly the only person who could catch him at an awkward moment—well, all right, Norman occasionally. "I…think," he said slowly. "Uh… it's…different for everyone, I guess." That sucked.  
  
It was cold again, and snow began to float gently onto Paradigm; steady fall meant one or two inches would blanket the streets and houses of the city. A cool breeze prompted Dorothy's hair to float gently on the wind, no matter how short it was, and she remained on the balcony, arms clasped together behind her. It wouldn't be long until her dress would be matted with it.  
  
There's something symbolic about snow at night. It also seems rather lonely, too, in a somewhat quiet, depressed city.  
  
Roger and Dorothy stood on stone, in silence; not a word was spoken between them, and Roger was grateful. She had asked enough intimidating questions for the day.  
  
"It's cold."  
  
"You can feel that kind of stuff?"  
  
"Yes. If you set a computer on fire, its systems would be heated. This isn't necessarily the same thing, but is similar nonetheless." She responded desolately, and her arms were removed from her back to be hanging limply at her sides. Roger was quiet for a moment.  
  
//You've been through enough embarrassing situations for the day.// he reminded himself. //One more couldn't hurt.//   
  
Letting out a very audible sigh, Roger took off his thick robe and hung it loosely on Dorothy's shoulders. Underneath was his usual bed attire—pants, slippers, and what may be distinguished as a "muscle shirt"—and it was cold for him, too. Why'd he have to go and do that? However, he revealed no sign of chill on the outside, and tucked his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Easy for you. I'm going inside. You coming in anytime soon?" Roger started towards the glass sliding door, turning his head slightly and nodding towards the inside.  
  
"I'll stay out for a little while longer."  
  
Roger nodded and walked back into the warm comforts of his mansion, starting towards his bedroom. And then there was that—the thing that had earlier caught his eye. A cool breeze emitted from the window in Dorothy's room…  
  
He walked in, and his eyes widened slightly. Snow scattered slightly on her bed and things, and on the black silk draperies she stationed in various areas—and finally, the window had a large hole smashed in the middle, brushing aside the curtains.  
  
Broken glass was pieced onto the small flowerpots attached to the rim of the windowsill seen outside.  
  
He walked further into the room, glancing around. There, lying on a clean black wood desk, lay a leather-bound book with a fountain pen lying next to it. Roger walked uneasily towards it, and brushed his fingers slightly against the letters embroidered in the cover.  
  
He shouldn't read it… 


	3. Persistance of Independence

A/N: Ignore the dates, please; I'm not feeling particularly creative, so bear with me. And yes, the androids and things are inspired by Chobits.   
  
The sleep-talk sequence is incredibly lame. Don't hurt me.  
  
Roger overreacts. Well, what do you want from him? He's a louse! XD;  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Big O…  
  
&  
  
| X day, X month  
  
I did not believe that old fool had enough thought to curse me with fervent nightmares; however, it seems I have been ignorant towards the boundaries he has crossed.  
  
In some ways, people would think I would—should—be grateful. I have heard from many people, books, and things, that the ability to feel things such as suffering and love is a gift. I consider them raving. I wish not to be a burden to what or whom my affections may be placed upon…on another note; I also wish not to be burdened. But…  
  
Darkness haunts my sleep, and I often find myself staring emptily unto the ceiling, disinterested by unneeded rest. I purchased this journal merely as a simple way to vent my frustrations or state of mind.  
  
When I awaken from a distressed sleep, I seem to have little recollection of the dreams aforementioned. Perhaps I will place more effort into recollecting them, and then grasp a meaning.  
  
That seems wise enough.  
  
-R. Dorothy Wayneright|  
  
-  
  
Roger flinched slightly, gloveless finger brushing lightly against thick, cream-colored pages; he stared at the signature written in a flourish, with an "R" scratched in without the elegant curvatures, as if it was placed there as a mere afterthought.  
  
He stared at the page for a moment. The Negotiator had always been somewhat naïve towards Dorothy's emotions, even up to the point of questioning if she had any. The fingers holding the page corner tensed slightly, and for a moment he considered turning the page. A small something inside his mind wondered if any mention of him was there…  
  
"Roger?"  
  
A tentative voice broke through his mental inquiries, and his head shot up; his mind acting to cover his wrongdoing, he leapt out of the chair and attempted to regain his composure.  
  
"Uh, hello, Dorothy." Roger regained his normal, casual smirk, though you can see his toe shift uncomfortably under her icy gaze. "Just…" His mind searched for a reasonable excuse. He found none, and was quiet.  
  
Dorothy, too, was silent; however, she seemed to be studying him carefully. She was suspicious.  
  
"It's alright," she said finally, barely making any facial expression to prove she really didn't mind. "Although I've never been too fond of the idea of trespassing, yes, Roger, you may come in."  
  
Inwardly, the Negotiator breathed a small sigh of relief that she made no inquiry as to why he was there in the first place, or what he was doing. He didn't dare allow his gaze to be averted, because an unbecoming gesture by Roger would arouse doubt. He didn't need it.  
  
"Well, it's been fun, but I have my own room—good night, Dorothy." Roger rushed out of the room, a small pang of anxiety resonating inside him. He hadn't even stayed for the response. That was rude.  
  
He gently shut the door behind him, and then leaned against it, folding his arms and closing his eyes in thought.  
  
Dorothy had nightmares, apparently.   
  
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, brow furrowing slightly. Finally, Roger pushed off the frame, walking indignantly to the window—or some distance between the door and his bed.  
  
Why did he care, anyway? Everyone has their own crap to deal with, and he got all wound up about one person's—no, one android's. He frowned slightly; he was just overreacting. And besides, machines weren't even meant to feel. He glowered at the door as a fist lightly knocked on it in short, rhythmic periods. He stalked over to it and swung the door open.  
  
"What!?" he half-yelled, rather aggravated. Dorothy stood at the doorframe, looking rather taken aback by his outburst, however, her normal expression flickered back as she held up the large robe.  
  
"If I had known returning something that belongs to you would irritate you so, I would have kept it." Dorothy retorted coolly; without awaiting an answer, she turned around and paced back to her room.   
  
Roger watched as Dorothy shut the door behind her, his hands still clutching the robe.  
  
He blinked, and let out a heavy sigh, slowly closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall. His gaze shifted to the ceiling in a "why me?" gesture, his hands raised to glare at the robe. Roger hurled it at the bed and held his forehead with one hand.  
  
//It's been a long day.//  
  
Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, the Negotiator stumbled to his bed. He could think through this tomorrow, or maybe not give it any more thought—besides, he had a client tomorrow! If he continued to dwell on it like that, he might…fail a mission. Right.  
  
His mind cascaded with thoughts, however, as soon as he unenthusiastically flopped into the large comforts of his bed.  
  
I wonder how Dorothy's doing… I wonder if Dorothy's dreaming… I wonder if Dorothy is having a nightmare? Almost, almost unwillingly these notions ran through his mind, and he found he could not rest much at all.   
  
Damn her. Damn her. He pressed a pillow over his head, like a poor insomniac trying to drown out outside noise. He needed to sleep, he didn't need to—…Perhaps he was partly to blame. It was his own damn fault he had read that journal. He silently swore at himself. He didn't need an android's burden.  
  
Slowly, he sat up, hair disheveled from tossing and turning in bed—he was tired, not sleepy, and there is a difference. He pulled on his robe and walked slowly out of his room and towards the kitchen. Maybe he would have a drink or something, and then go to sleep.  
  
Roger stopped in the middle of the hallway, eyes shifting to Dorothy's door against his better judgment.   
  
The same cool breeze emanated from the fleeting space between the door and the tile, which indicated that Dorothy hadn't fixed or at least attempted to seal the shattered window. Roger grimaced slightly and stalked over to her door. His hand grasped the doorknob, but immediately, his motions quieted. Dorothy would hear him if he made too much noise.  
  
He slowly crept in, timidly hoping his entrance went unnoticed; instead, Dorothy merely stirred in her bed, her hand releasing a small, simply designed teddy bear in her slight movement. The bear stumbled to the floor.  
  
Why was he doing this again? Roger pressed one hand to his face, wondering what in the hell he was doing. Dorothy would kill him.  
  
He glanced upwards as a soft murmur escaped from Dorothy's mouth; she twisted around in bed, head crushed against the pillow. Her fingers tightened around the small bit of blanket she held onto for dear life.  
  
//What's her problem?//  
  
Her brow furrowed and teeth clenched achingly, and her grip on the cloth tightened; a small swear emitted between short breaths made a hard impact on Roger's ears. Dorothy didn't swear. She never felt the need to swear.  
  
"…Not true…"  
  
What in the hell was going on? Tentatively, Roger stepped towards the bed where Dorothy's closed eyes set the stage for a despairing—and rather livid—expression. So she was having nightmares. He made a motion to reach over, perhaps wake her up, but stopped as she took another shuddering breath.  
  
A whisper wanting to be a scream… "…Wherever he goes?…"  
  
Silence. Roger recoiled slightly, scratching his arm and fixing his gaze on the figure lying on the sheets, resembling an untainted china doll.  
  
"…I'll follow him…"  
  
Roger froze, beginning to feel heat creep up from behind his collar; he stumbled backwards, slightly dizzy all of a sudden. He was never good at dealing with emotions—well, not all emotions, just those kinds of emotions, and this was proven; obviously in a state of bewilderment, Roger slowly stumbled away from the bed. This couldn't be happening…wait, what couldn't be happening?  
  
Dorothy's glassy eyes shot open as Roger's efforts to disclose any noise failed pitiably; she sat up immediately, looking alarmed. Her eyes reallocated to Roger, and they widened for a fraction of a second, but then relief flickered across her face.  
  
"…What are you doing in my room, Roger Smith, at this hour?" she asked flatly, back retaining a strict kind of straightness and frowning slightly.  
  
"I, uh…heard you talking in your sleep." All right, it was a lie, but it wasn't too far from the truth, at least. Roger placed his hands in his pockets, but after a while one gets the sense he puts them there whenever he suffers from… discomfiture.  
  
"About what?" Dorothy's expression flickered with a miniscule bout of panic, and her grip on the blankets tightened ever so slightly.  
  
Roger was quiet for a moment, pondering the consequences.  
  
"About what, Roger—"  
  
"Who was it you'd said you would follow?" Roger questioned, fingers shifting in his pockets. That's right, Roger; stay calm. Slowly, he regained his poise and stared at his android companion, awaiting an answer. Dorothy's response, however, was certainly unexpected.  
  
"And who are you to make an inquiry on my dreams—no…my nightmares, Roger Smith?" she seethed, fists clenching and spite flaring in her eyes. Roger staggered backwards, rather overwhelmed by the reaction lined with abhorrence. "I'm not human, in case you have forgotten the point you seem to stress upon so lightly. Obviously whatever I said was simply a byproduct of that old man's experimentations upon trying to mold me into a human. And obviously I did not speak that loudly, so if you will…"  
  
Roger was silenced for the moment—Dorothy seemed so offended by the question… He stared at her for a moment, examining her irate expression, and then he stared at the floor fixedly. His eyes shifted to the small bear that had fallen to the ground, and he knelt down, picking it up from the ground and avoiding her infuriated glare carefully.  
  
"You dropped your bear." Roger said quietly, staring at the small object and then setting it on the bed. He let out a short sigh and turned around, walking back to his room.  
  
Dorothy stared at the bear for a moment, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes closed slightly, and the voice still rang clear in her head…  
  
Roger stumbled into bed blindly, from rage or despair; he sat up in bed, fists pressed against the mattress. Her reaction towards his question was so strong… Perhaps the one she would follow, the one she said she would follow…wasn't him?  
  
How could he have held the faintest glimmer of hope for that idea? A dream was a dream. Dorothy… Dorothy was too independent to trail along after Roger…  
  
And…she wasn't human…  
  
He sighed—a low, shuddering sound, testing the extremities of his capability to feel misery; he sat in bed for a while, wondering who else was there—who Dorothy cared for in the complex maze she had woven as her mind. Who she would follow, wherever they went…  
  
Roger felt a pang of emptiness strike him, begrudgingly recalling her words and angered expression.  
  
He crawled into bed, propping his head onto his arms. Her words had a rigid impact on him…why? When he thought that Dorothy could care for someone else… Dorothy was having nightmares… Dorothy was unhappy… Another twinge made itself known in the pit of his stomach—no, his heart.  
  
He still couldn't sleep. 


	4. Persistance of Reflection

A/N: I can dance…woo…go me! As a side note: each and every chapter will be filled with mindless Roger/Dorothy stuff. Yes, I am that avid a fan. This story is so lame. It's filled with mush and all that Valentine's Day-style stuff.  
  
But you wouldn't be reading this if you weren't avid Roger/Dorothy, would you? Bear with me.  
  
The title of this evil story will soon be changed. You all okay with that? Thanks for your reviews. You get a gold star!  
  
Disclaimer: Big O is property of…the people…who own Big O… And most of this plot and things are derived from CLAMP's creation, Chobits. But I'm sure you don't mind, do you? To be on the safe side, plots derived from Chobits, things, people, and the name Hibiya: not mine. For those who could identify it: congrats! Have a gold star!  
  
-  
  
Damn.  
  
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.  
  
Roger paced around the comforts of his room, and yet walking around testily attempting to figure out a plan of action helped nothing; he had absolutely no sleep that night, and much to his alarm there was no inane classical music pounding in his ears that morning. He felt as if his shoulders were draped with lead, owing either to his lack of sleep, or…  
  
He didn't want to go out of his room; never dared to exit because she might be there. But did Roger really fear her?  
  
Or maybe he just feared what he would feel when he saw her.  
  
It was dry and dismal outside—a rather large cloud shaded a tint of wolf gray loomed over the majority of lofty buildings; Roger's mind flickered spontaneously towards his thoughts of the previous day…that Dorothy would like the sun out.  
  
Well, the sun wasn't out, and Dorothy was probably not pleased.  
  
A rapid knock on the door snapped Roger out of his short-lived daze, and Norman's queries about his health emitted through the wooden seal of his quarters. He couldn't hide any longer. Roger took a deep breath, a sense of foreboding creeping into some area near his ribs. And he exited his room.  
  
Dorothy sat stoically at the table in the center of the room. Silence reigned for about four minutes.  
  
"It's almost noon, Roger." Dorothy finally spoke up, frosty gaze fixated into her cup. "Your client called. You are late."  
  
Oh, damn. Roger pressed one hand to his forehead and swore loudly, stalking back to his room claiming he had to dress—and yet somehow, probably stalling for time. There wasn't too much time for a shower; rolling his eyes, he changed into his suit and ran a comb through his hair a couple of times. And then the Negotiator closed his eyes, obviously troubled. But, again, now wasn't the time… Roger let out an uneasy sigh, walking out of his room and preparing to head to the Griffon.  
  
The familiar tap-tap of Dorothy's steps greeted him from behind, and he could feel himself smiling gratefully underneath his skin. He craned his head around to give her a friendly greeting, but found she had simply walked straight past him towards her own seat. And he heaved a sigh inwardly. Damn.  
  
The doors shut, and there was an eerie silence as Roger pulled out of the massive "garage" in which his car was housed.  
  
After a while, Roger sighed again, more audibly.  
  
"Are you still mad at me?" he questioned, fingers tightening around the wheel. He felt like a kid who had aggravated their parents and then apologized almost meaninglessly, only to find that said adults were holding small/large grudges.  
  
Dorothy was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. Roger opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off abruptly.  
  
"I do not wish for this 'entering room without permission' fixation to continue, Roger."  
  
"Alright, alright. Sorry." Roger held up one hand in self-defense, tilting the wheel with his other. Nonchalant outside, but he felt a bit of relief settle into the back of his mind.  
  
"Are you humoring me, Roger?"  
  
"No, not at all." Roger leaned against the seat, quite thankful that Dorothy was able to get over it so quickly. "At least you're in a better mood." Dorothy made a small "hmm" sound in her throat—a small sign of amusement on her part, and he glanced at her for what he hoped was a fraction of a second. Too late—Dorothy had caught his glimpse, and her eyebrow cocked.  
  
"I'll accept those undertones as a sign of concern." Her stare reverted back to the dashboard, and she unclipped the seatbelt as they pulled over at a moderately large two-story house.  
  
Waiting in a small gazebo a little ways away from the right side was a woman, peacefully drinking lemonade as rain sprinkled lightly over the grasses.  
  
"Hello." Julia Hibiya smiled warmly at them, and her eyes appeared to flicker faintly when they met Dorothy's cool gaze.  
  
"Miss Hibiya." Roger extended a hand, which the young woman graciously took; Dorothy stood slightly behind him, hands clasped in front of her and face set in stone. He continued.  
  
"So, your robot is missing? You said others' bots were missing as well. Do you…know those people?"  
  
"Yes." She smiled gently; her expression seemed…worn, as if weathered by misfortune. "This is a rather…extravagant neighborhood. More people can afford androids here…and more androids got stolen here."  
  
"Interesting."   
  
There were some times when Roger doubted whether he was a Negotiator or some kind of superhero or detective.   
  
"Is there anything particular you'd like to note before I begin—" Roger trailed off, mind reeling for adequate word choices; sighing dejectedly, he finally settled on: "—investigation?"  
  
Roger hated referring to his line of work as "investigation" or anything of the sort. To tell the truth, he really preferred the term "negotiating"…but Roger knows that isn't quite his exact line of work, and he always disliked that.  
  
"Yes. Four peoples' androids were stolen, and of those people, their androids were taken to Cherubic for customization."  
  
"Do you have any type of picture to help identify these androids?"  
  
"Only my own…"  
  
Julia's timid, chocolate gaze slowly shifted to an ivory-colored picture frame sitting near her left hand, where the glass of lemonade sat collecting dew on the surface. A charred picture: Julia, standing serenely next to a tall, looming figure with a black coat and ruffled hair. Strange, fox like ears stuck mechanically out of the top of its—no, his—head. But what stuck out most of all was matching bands wrapped on android and human woman's finger…  
  
Wedding rings…  
  
The thought of an android being able to marry a human flickered almost, ALMOST unwillingly in his mind; in that moment, his thoughts stumbled all over the damn place until he nodded, unable to think of anything much to say.  
  
So he turned around and began walking back to the Griffon.   
  
Roger didn't hear the soft crunching of the grass beneath heeled shoes; he turned around to tell Dorothy to hurry up.  
  
Dorothy, however, remained at the edge of the porch, ebon eyes fixated on the photograph. Noticeably, Julia decidedly chose to say nothing to disturb her "trance"… Roger blinked dully, and then briskly trotted back, his pace slowing as he approached his robotic companion.  
  
As he placed a broad hand over her shoulder, she appeared to snap out of it; she nodded hurriedly, turned, and began walking to the Griffon. Julia seemed to hold some light of curiosity in her eyes. Roger stared at the woman.  
  
Finally, he couldn't help himself. "…Did you place that photograph there for any particular reason?"  
  
Julia's eyes glittered gently, and she folded her hands on her lap as if each motion was dictated by grace.  
  
"I've heard quite a bit about the Negotiator's android companion." Julia said simply, black curls dangling off her shoulders. Roger stared. "I was told her eyes were blacker then shadows… I decided to teach her something: something small, insignificant, but something. It's the least I could do for her part in the negotiation…"  
  
Roger began to mull things over slowly, although he was still, to put it lightly, confused as hell.  
  
A moment of silence passed in which Roger realized he would get no audible explanation, so he sighed perceptibly, turned, and began to walk to his expansive black car.  
  
Julia's stare slowly shifted towards the photograph, and although Roger couldn't see it, Dorothy held a small, new ray of hope that hadn't been there that morning… Placed there courtesy of Julia Hibiya.  
  
Yes, an android and a human can fall in love.  
  
-  
  
"What was that all about?" Roger inquired, pressing his hands on the wheel and glancing sideways at Dorothy, hoping to find some answer.   
  
"It was nothing. Forget it."  
  
As a red light flickered in front, Roger watched her eyes intently, hoping to find some feeble flicker of emotion or reaction. He wasn't too surprised, however, when he found nothing there except the mere reflection of the outwardly dull scenery unto her equally dreary eyes… No, her eyes weren't dreary. Roger blinked again as Dorothy's shaded eyes shifted smoothly to meet his.  
  
He blinked, and then allowed a shadow of a smile to flicker on his face.  
  
They weren't dreary at all.  
  
Dorothy's fingers twitched occasionally, her brows furrowing in what appeared to be deep and alert concentration; she seemed quite anxious or something of the sort, and her feet fidgeted every now and then.  
  
Roger glanced at her squirming uneasily in her seat, eyes narrowing every now and then. She was probably thinking of the people who stole the androids, or something of the sort…  
  
The same ghost of a shadow flashed, again, on his face, and he reached his hand over, resting his palm on top of her fidgety, slender, and rather icy hands.  
  
Dorothy's icy touch seemed to become deathly still under his hand for a fraction of a second, but she immediately relaxed, eyes kept straight ahead. He could infrequently feel her fingernails tap her skirt for some reason, and he frowned slightly—why was she so restless? If you had viewed from afar, it could be viewed as somewhat of a caring gesture could also be seen as a way to simply keep her hands from moving. After three or four minutes, however, Dorothy seemed to calm herself considerably.  
  
"You alright?" Roger inquired stiffly, and that familiar fear of what he would think regarding her and a few circumstances returned. She paused, closing her eyes for a moment as if gathering some thoughts…or an excuse.  
  
"I'm fine," she said slowly, almost enunciating the "I'm" as if trying to prove a piece of her humanity. "There is nothing to be concerned about… Roger."   
  
Roger frowned at the pause, right hand tightening over Dorothy's and left clutching the wheel. She made a sound in her throat similar to a sigh, willowy fingers intertwining with his.  
  
Life wasn't the best, but it was okay.  
  
-  
  
A/N: I don't necessarily like how this chapter ended, but whatever. Read, review, or do nothing. 


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